


She Made A Wish...

by Viridis



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: (is no joke), Birthday Sex, Biting, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunkenness, Hair-pulling, Massage, Multi, Multiple Sex Positions, Oral Sex, Qunari genitalia, Rough Sex, Scratching, Sex, Smut, Surprises, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, porn with all kinds of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 20:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridis/pseuds/Viridis
Summary: All Hawke wants for her birthday is a threesome. And boy, does she get one.





	She Made A Wish...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fen_Assan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fen_Assan/gifts).



> This is a silly little fic I wrote for my jewel of a beta [Fen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fen_Assan/pseuds/Fen_Assan) for her birthday (she is amazing!). Hopefully it will ~~scandalize~~ delight other readers as well! 
> 
> Warning: rough, filthy sex ahead! Perfectly consensual, but there is a scene where Hawke is being held down rather forcefully. (She loves it.) Also, note that this story takes place in a different Universe than [my first Arishawke fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8357920/chapters/19145737)… so no, this is not the sequel I'm planning on writing one of these days. :)
> 
> Enjoy, folks! <3

Hawke slams her tankard down.

”I have decided what I want for my birthday next week,” she states with a wide, beer-stained grin. She pauses dramatically. ”I want a _threesome_.”

”I'll do it,” Isabela says.

”I'll do it,” Anders says.

”I won't do it,” Aveline says.

”Atta girl, Hawke.” Varric digs out his quill and notebook from his vest pocket.

”What's a threesome?” Merrill asks.

Hawke tilts her head and tries to focus her brilliant blue eye. She has squeezed the other one shut - that, or her hair has fallen over it, or the barrel cleaner The Hanged Man is serving has finally claimed her eyesight, she is not sure. She is aiming for Fenris who is sitting quietly across the table, sipping his wine, and looking absolutely detached.

”I want a threesome with the Broody Elf and a Surprise Cock!” she declares. The crowd gasps; Fenris spurts dark wine all over the table.

”Aw, Hawke, now you scared him,” Varric pats Fenris on the back. The elf wipes his mouth and gives Hawke a stunned look.

”...excuse me, what?”

Hawke spreads her arms in a grand gesture: ”You, me, someone - sex!”

Fenris looks incredulous and not a little red in the face. His lyrium markings seem to vibrate for a moment. ”And - why me, exactly?”

”'Cause you are a _beautiful man_ , and I want to see you naked, exactly.” Hawke flutters her lashes, offers what attempts to be a sultry, convincing smile, and winks. Fenris frowns.

”Are you trying to look seductive?”

”Yeah?”

”Hmm.”

”I don't know, Hawke,” Varric says and rubs his chin. ”You've got some good ideas, but this… you sure about this one?” Hawke crosses her arms, and pouts.

”You people said I can ask for anything, and anything means _any thing_ , ask _any one!_ ”

”I could be the Surprise Cock,” Anders offers, and wiggles his eyebrows. Hawke looks displeased.

”Eh, where's the surprise if I know it's you?”

”Oh, but I can provide surprises...” Anders lifts his hand and lets a faint, sparkling current run through his slender, herb-stained fingers. ”Also, I'd like to point out that technically I can provide threesome all by myself.”

”Yeaaah, see, I'm not into weird spirit sex, really,” Hawke shudders and empties her tankard. ”Besides, you and the elf would end up trying to outdo and eventually murder one another, so…” She turns back to Fenris who is giving her an extremely disapproving, continuous stare. She points a finger at him. ”So it's you, and whoever - but they will have to be my type. Pick carefully.”

”What _is_ Hawke's type?” Anders wonders. Varric chuckles.

”I was going to suggest 'anyone but Seneschal Bran'.”

”I would fuck Bran,” Hawke defies, ”hate sex is great.” Aveline covers her face.

”Maker have mercy on your filthy soul.”

Isabela, who's been seriously distracted by Anders' magical fingers, turns to Hawke, annoyed. ”Sugar pie, I must say I am feeling rather discriminated against here. I mean, I appreciate a good cock as much as anyone, probably more, but come on… I am amazing in bed. Please reconsider this men only policy.”

”Bela could use a strap-on,” Anders points out, ”she's really good with that.” Aveline groans, exasperated; Isabela lets out a sparkling laughter.

”What's a strap-on?” Merrill asks.

Hawke snorts and glides gracefully under the table.

 

***

 

The next day Hawke has pretty much forgotten about the whole thing. She's aware that she might have said or done something stupid, but hey - she was drunk, and her companions know better than to listen to her when she's in that state. She spends most of the morning curing a pounding headache, and to everyone's surprise manages to make it to her meeting with the Viscount in the afternoon. Dumar, unsurprisingly, has a couple of errands for her that occupy pretty much the rest of her week.

Way too early on the morning of her birthday Hawke is woken up by a careful knock on the door.

”Mistress,” Orana sounds even softer than she usually does, ”master Fenris is here.”

Hawke groans and refuses to open her eyes. ”Is he insane? The stars are still out!”

There is no answer. Hawke swears and sits up. She rubs her face, wraps a robe around her naked body, and after failing to find her slippers - she has a hunch that her snoring mabari is lying on them - she pats downstairs barefoot.

Fenris is standing in the hall, arms crossed: he is wearing a beautifully embroidered grey shirt and leather breeches instead of his usual spiky armor, and the mop of his brilliant white hair seems, for once, carefully combed. ”Good morning, Hawke,” he says, his voice annoyingly sharp and awake. Hawke yawns, scratches her side. She is tempted to comment on the outfit (it really does look good), but she is too tired and irritated to share compliments.

”This better be good, I'm just saying.”

Fenris takes a deep breath, rocks on the balls of his feet. ”As a rule,” he says then, ”due to my past… experiences, I don't take well to people telling me what to do.” He raises his glimmering eyes to Hawke: they look like emeralds in the dim light streaming through the windows. ”Especially when it comes to sex.”

Hawke blinks. ”Right.”

”However.” The elf pauses, lets his gaze glide down to Hawke's parted lips. ”After a careful consideration and because I _want_ this... I am going to ask you to wash yourself, wear a dress, and come with me.”

Hawke blinks again. ”What now?”

”I said, wash yourself, wear a dress, and come with me.”

”Why?”

The side of Fenris' mouth twitches. ”Because you're about to get your birthday present.”

Hawke's eyes widen. Suddenly she is fully awake. ”…you're fucking kidding me.”

”No.”

”Well - well _I_ was fucking kidding!” She pauses, considers. ”I think. And anyway, I didn't truly expect that you'd be - that you'd really want to - ” She looks at the elf, curious. ”You do then? Want to? I mean, _really?_ ”

Fenris' eyes darken. ”Oh, I do.”

They are close, so close that Hawke can smell him: the familiar yet oddly intoxicating mixture of honeyed wine, bitter herbs, and something hard to define that seems typical to elven people; under it all a cool, metallic hint of lyrium. Hawke is suddenly feeling very, very hot. Uncharacteristically bashful, she steps back and laughs. She knows it sounds all too tense.

”Why so early, though? Couldn't wait, huh?”

Fenris opens his mouth, hesitates - and once he speaks, Hawke gets the feeling he was originally going to say something else altogether, but changed his mind about it: ”The third party wants to do this as soon as possible after their morning rituals and meditation.”

Hawke slams her hands on her mouth. ”Andraste's twisted knickers, you didn’t get me a templar, did you?!” She grabs Fenris' arm. ”Is it Cullen?! Oh boy, if it's Cullen and his virginal ass, I'm going to - I'm really going to - ”

Fenris rolls his eyes and pushes her firmly towards the stairs. ”Get ready, please. We should not be late.”

 

***

 

Hawke follows Fenris patiently through the awakening city. The sky is still pale, the air fragrant with cool scents of nightly plants and the sea, and vendors in the marketplace are only beginning to pull out their wares. They meet a night patrol returning to the Keep, and spot Donnic amongst the yawning guards. Fenris waves his hand at the man. 

”Hey! Nice game last night!” Donnic shouts - and then he seems to notice Hawke, and bursts out laughing. Hawke frowns.

”What? What's so funny?”

”Never seen you dressed as a girl!” Donnic looks absolutely delighted. Hawke groans. According to Fenris' instructions, she is indeed wearing a dress: a soft, simple dark blue number, and although she initially thought it looked darn nice on her…

”Thanks, Donnic!”

”Oh, no,” the man smiles disarmingly, ”you look real pretty. Like I said, I've just never seen you in a dress before.”

”How about your wife then?!”

”Got me there.”

”Go home, and get some sleep, you lucky bastard.”

They keep on walking towards the Docs; once there, they go past the gate for the Qunari compound, and approach an unassuming looking door that Hawke has always thought leads to some storage room or office space. Fenris stops, and turns to look at her. He seems slightly… tense. Hawke feels an uncomfortable pinch in the bottom of her stomach.

”We aren't going to the Gallows?” she asks, baffled. Fenris shakes his head.

”No.” He presses his hand against the worn surface of the door. ”Are you ready?”

”Honestly… I have no idea.”

A strange expression flashes over the elf's face. ”It was wrong of me to ask.”

”Why?”

”Because I know you are not.”

 

***

 

The room is small, dark, and quiet, and it smells of grains and incense. The only light source are two tall, gleaming brass lanterns set on simple shelves on both sides of the door: they cast steady, warm light on the bare wooden walls and floor, but the high ceiling stays in the shadows. In the middle of the room is set a huge, comfortable-looking mattress filled with shiny furs and red pillows.

On the mattress, gleaming like a statue of gold in the orange glow, lounges the Arishok of the Qunari people.

The Arishok is without a harness or vitaar, wearing just a simple pair of linen pants. He is leaning his horned head casually against his hand, his silver white hair cascading loosely over his wide, scarred shoulders. Hawke stares, flabbergasted. The Qunari blinks his golden eyes languidly, as she knows he tends to do when he wants to calm down the person he is talking to.

”Greetings, Hawke. I hope today finds you well.” Hawke turns sharply to Fenris.

_”What have you done?”_

”I did specifically what you asked me to do.” The elf crosses his arms defiantly. ”You asked for a surprise.” He tilts his head. ”You seem surprised.” Hawke covers her face and hisses.

”Makerdammit, Fenris! I said pick _someone who is my type_. You really think this is my type? A horn-headed giant from Void with a superiority complex, mean attitude, and, I assume, a dick I can't take?”

”Frankly, yes. Absolutely.”

”Is there a problem?” the Arishok asks, with a hint of impatience in the booming voice. Hawke snarls.

”Yes.”

The Arishok frowns. ”My understanding is you wish to engage in a sexual act with me. Is this not the case?”

”I never specified I wanted _you_.”

”I see. The deal is off then?”

”I don't...” Hawke hesitates, then groans, and presses her temples. ”Why are you agreeing to this madness?” The Arishok shrugs.

”I am curious about experiencing the act with a human, and I don't find you repulsive.”

”Well that's peculiar, considering you've made it pretty clear you feel nothing but disgust towards me or my kind.”

”I believe I told you I have 'a growing lack of disgust for you',” the Arishok points out, ”and you should take it as a compliment.”

”This is so romantic I can hardly handle it,” Hawke mutters and gives now entertained-looking Fenris an accusing side glance. Then she falls quiet for a long time, and studies the ever calm Qunari in front of her.

The minutes go by.

”You know what,” she says finally, ”let's do it.” She lifts her chin. ”But if you crush me or split me in two with your monster cock...”

There seems to be a hint of a smug smile lingering by the side of the Arishok's mouth; then again it could be just a trick of light. He sits up in an oddly smooth movement - Hawke has always considered the way he moves impossible; no creature that large should be capable of such grace - and pats his thigh.

”Over here, Hawke.”

Hawke feels her mouth getting dry.

Just like that then?

It takes too long of a moment before she manages to convince herself that no, actually she does _not_ have to move just because the cursed Arishok with his cursed commanding voice is telling her to.

Abruptly, Hawke wraps her hand around Fenris' neck and pulls the elf in for a kiss. Fenris lets out a surprised cry, and the tattoos on his sinewy arms flare up; then he nearly melts against her, and wraps eagerly around her body.

Hawke finds herself almost immediately overwhelmed by the kiss. She has always considered Fenris attractive - gloomy, opinionated, and bitter, but attractive - yet she didn't expect quite this kind of reaction. Fenris feels strong and firm in her arms, enticing, and as he suddenly pushes his warm tongue between her lips, her breath catches, and her heart speeds up.

”Fuck - ” she mutters under her breath. Fenris emits a low laugh, and begins to unlace her dress with nimble fingers. Stunned by this straightforwardness, Hawke stands still and stares as the elf pulls the dress easily down to her hips and lets it slide freely down until the silk pools like dark water on the dusty floor.

Hawke lets out a delighted chuckle, feeling oddly free, a little bit silly, and oh, so warm: she truly can't tell if the room is hot or cold, because her revealed skin is burning now. She gives utterly transfixed Fenris a teasing smile, and dares to glance at the Arishok. The Qunari is sitting still, watchful. His strange, pale eyes are roaming over her naked body as well, but his face is hard to read; were Hawke pressed to describe his expression, she'd call it curious.

”You are beautiful,” Fenris mumbles into her hair - a cliché, perhaps, but it sounds sincere enough - and lets his delicate fingers glide across the small mound of her belly, leaving Hawke a shivering mess. The hand slides up, so gentle still; the knuckles begin to trace the round shape of her breasts, caressing the soft underside, and Hawke gasps, closing her eyes. Fenris, encouraged, cups the soft mounds, and begins to rub rough thumbs against the pebbling nipples. He is shuddering as well, incapable of keeping his perfectly cool facade up any longer, and it is kind of sweet, really -

The Arishok says something. Hawke is too gone to understand it, but she can hear Fenris answering, and then she is carefully guided by the mattress, and laid on the soft covers. The Arishok's thigh presses against her, warm and muscular.

Fenris gets up. Hawke makes an unhappy sound and opens her eyes, but once she realizes what the elf is doing, she forgets about her complaining. She stares, mesmerized, as Fenris strips, pulling off one piece of clothing after another, revealing his body. There's quiet defiance in his movements, as if he is slightly unsure still, as if he is prepared to be judged or laughed at, or just somewhat angry because the last time he took his clothes off like this, it was against his will. Hawke tries to smile at him encouragingly, and then he is naked and he is _gorgeous_ : the markings on his smooth brown skin seem to glitter in the lantern light, his toned muscles are twitching, anxious.

”Maker have mercy,” Hawke sighs. ”Look at you! Turn, please?”

Fenris frowns, obviously not too pleased with the request, but obeys anyway and spins around slowly. The lyrium tattoos really do reach everywhere, curling like pale snakes around his body; Hawke ogles shamelessly at his shapely buttocks and smooth, half-hard cock - a lovely thing, that - and feels her loins beginning to tingle.

A feather-light brush on her shoulder breaks her concentration. She lifts her head to see the Arishok studying her face. Right away she understands that the Qunari did not actually touch her after all, that she felt just a tickle of his hair. No matter how unintentional, the contact makes Hawke shiver just the same, and all of a sudden she is feeling uncharacteristically shy. A deep blush spreads on her face and chest.

The Arishok raises his eyebrow. He looks so odd this close: still frightening, but also unbearably beautiful, and although Hawke would never admit it, there's something about the ridiculous size and calm confidence radiating from the man that pulls her like a magnet. She dares to press just a bit closer, inhales the strange, alien smell of him -

\- and then Fenris is looming above her, stealing her attention again. Instinctively, Hawke reaches for him, but finds herself flipped on her belly.

_”Hey!”_

Fenris makes a soothing sound, then he straddles her thighs, lays his strong hands on her back, and Hawke instantly understands. She relaxes and closes her eyes. ”Oh yes, please...”

Like all fighters, Hawke is chronically sore and in pain: she's been lucky enough to avoid serious injuries, but her limbs require a good rubbing every now and then, and she suspects her aching joints have made her down more elfroot potions than any injuries she's ever suffered. Fenris, certainly aware of this, goes through her muscles slowly and meticulously, rubbing and kneading her shoulders and her sides, finding all the sore spots by her spine… Hawke sinks slowly into blissful half-consciousness under the elf's ministrations. After a while, as if in a dream, she feels someone lift her hair: huge hands smooth over her strands, and then there are sharp claws scratching her scalp in gentle, circular patterns. An unlikely gesture, but not an unwelcome one: Hawke shivers and sinks even deeper into her drowsy state.

Fenris kisses her shoulders, lightly, so lightly, and moves his hands to her glutes. He kneads them even slower than he did her shoulders, as if enjoying himself; his fingers spread and contract on the curvy muscles, rolling on her skin; they glide over the crack of her ass, once, twice, spread the cheeks a bit. Hawke stops breathing. She can't help arching her body against the rhythmical touch - and then Fenris' thumbs slip lower, glide smoothly along her labia. Hawke lets out a choked moan. The fingers return, circle her core in a slow, sensual movement, retract again -

Next thing Hawke knows, she is lifted up in the air with an effortless force and moved around. Alarmed and acutely irritated, she opens her eyes to find that the Arishok has settled on his back and is pulling her on top of him. Hawke grunts, annoyed, and attempts to twist herself free - but for once in her life she can't. Gigantic hands are holding her down, so easily, that Hawke, slightly incredulous now, can't resist testing the grip of those hands once more. When she utterly fails to free herself, again… well. It _really_ shouldn't feel as intoxicating as it does. Out of breath, she lifts her head, and confronts the intense golden stare of those non-human eyes.

”Qunari bastard,” she hisses. The Arishok laughs, and she can feel it vibrate inside her body - and at that moment she also becomes aware of his massive, stone-hard erection pressing against her thighs.

Hopelessly flustered, Hawke is just starting to worry about how in the world she is going to survive the whole thing, when the Arishok grabs her by the hair, and forces her into a kiss.

Like the Arishok himself, the kiss is devastating. Hawke feels immediately overpowered, conquered - a feeling she normally absolutely hates - and everything in the universe disappears except the hungry, brutal press of his lips. Hawke opens up to let out an animalistic moan and the moment she does, his tongue is in her throat. Hawke slams the Qunari in the arm; he gets it and pulls out, but not much. He growls in her mouth, kisses her for another moment, and then yanks her higher, until her chest is resting above his face.

The Arishok covers her breasts, both of her breasts, with his hand, and begins to knead her soft skin. Hawke moans, again, she just can't help it, and presses her cheek against the hard, bony surface of his horn. The Arishok licks her left nipple in a circular movement, then the other. ”Your breasts are small,” he rumbles. Hawke grimaces, fighting the urge to rub herself off against the hot, bare chest.

”Yeah, well, your ridiculous shovel hands are too big.”

”Fair.” The Arishok closes his hot mouth on the tip and _sucks_. Hawke gasps, and hides her burning face in his silver hair.

_”Fuck!”_

The Arishok pays a good amount of attention to both her breasts; then, without warning, Hawke finds herself pushed back down, lower again, and her legs are spread and her hips lifted in the air. Behind her Fenris lets out a deep, aroused groan seeing her presented like this, and then all she hears is the slow, thunderous beat of a Qunari heart as the Arishok pulls her face firmly against his chest.

It could be an almost affectionate gesture, a hug, perhaps, but Hawke is pretty sure he just attempts to raise her ass higher. His rough, clawed hands move tentatively over her sides and hips, cup her behind for a moment, and then retreat, enclosing her upper body in an embrace.

Almost out of her mind with lust and not thinking too much, Hawke kisses his hard pectoral. She can feel the Arishok flinch, as if surprised, but he doesn't protest; instead, the embrace tightens to the point where she finds it hard to breathe. She does not mind.

Fenris positions himself between Hawke's legs. She can feel rough hands setting on herass cheeks, a hot breath caressing her crotch - and then there's a warm, wet tongue gliding slowly along her slit. Hawke muffles a choked cry, and grips the Arishok's arms so hard it must hurt. Fenris tightens his grip to keep her still; he lets the tip of his tongue circle her clit, flicking it lightly, and then his sweet open mouth presses on top of it, and sucks. Hawke arches with a soundless scream.

The Arishok has to really work to keep the squirming human female where she lies: her body is shaking, as the elf keeps on assaulting her with his tongue and teeth. She is beginning to sense the first electric impulses tingling inside her, when Fenris pulls away again; Hawke feels his smooth thighs against hers, there's something hard poking her pulsing lips.

Fenris bends down to press a kiss between her shoulderblades. ”May I?”

Hawke makes an attempt of an affirmative sound, and stops breathing, trembling with anticipation. Fenris takes a good, tight hold on her hips, and without further ado, glides smoothly inside her. Hawke gasps and pushes back to meet him, as she is being slowly filled.

”Oh - oh damn, Fenris!”

He feels so good, _so good_ \- and it is just as marvelous as she always dreamt it would be, and yet nothing like she thought; Fenris is gentler, sweeter -

The Arishok moves slightly, backs away, so that Hawke drops lower on his massive chest. She can feel the burning hot erection against her chest, slotting between her breasts; a hard hand grabs her hair again, and then the Qunari's body begins to slowly grind against her. Hawke lets out a faint mewl, her senses overwhelmed; she can't decide whether to concentrate on Fenris' infuriatingly slow glide in and out of her, or on the delicious rub of the Arishok's cock and almost painful grip of his hand.

Fenris mutters something in Tevene and speeds up the rhythm of his thrusts; Hawke gasps, reveling in the feel of his hips smacking hard against her soft behind - and then, because it is all too much and she is getting restless and she needs to, needs to, needs to move, her hands begin to roam, and it is as if they have a mind of their own; they find their way under her own body, slide inside the Arishok's pants, and grope eagerly at his erection. His cock feels hot and silky, and so ridiculously large, that despite her disheveled state, Hawke pauses. Her eyes flick open unwittingly, and she looks quickly down, right at the huge head: it is smooth, heavy and impossibly wide, gleaming with precome. 

Hawke swallows and glances at the Arishok, incredulous. ”You're - you're planning on sticking _that_ in me?” she stutters, not recognizing her voice anymore. The Arishok grins -

\- and then someone lays their finger on her clit and presses, and she begins to come. She feels like she is rising out of her body, and exploding silently in a wave of a brilliant, pulsing light. Her gaping mouth finds almost instinctively the tip of the Arishok's cock, and she sucks it passionately through her orgasm; the Arishok groans, and then Fenris lets out a choked cry and goes stiff behind her, and the unintentional duet of their impossibly deep voices make her toes curl.

Fenris falls flat against her back and undulates, shuddering quietly. Hawke, slowly coming down, wonders why she is still seeing lights; she cracks her eye open and it takes a moment before she realizes that the white pulsing glow is actually inside the room, not in her head, and it is coming from the elf's lyrium tattoos that are brightening and dimming at intervals.

”Oh -” is all she manages say.

Fenris stays still for another moment. The flashing slows down, finally vanishes; with a deep, grateful sigh he kisses her back, and pulls out with a hiss, as if in pain. Hawke grieves the loss of him, but then she gets something else to think about, as she is turned over and pressed firmly on the mattress.

The Arishok is staring at her from above, covering her whole view with his stern face, horns, and hair, and once again she gets the strangest feeling like everything else simply ceases to exist.

On a whim, Hawke reaches up and kisses the side of his mouth - a thing way more dangerous to do than sucking his dick, she thinks. The Arishok hesitates but a moment, and kisses her back, surprisingly soft, studying. He has lovely, full lips, and Hawke thinks how it is such a shame that usually they are squeezed into a hard, spiteful line.

”Do your worst then,” she utters, because she is the way she is, and can’t help herself. They stare at each other for a short, unsure moment; strangers in every sense of the word, potential enemies, who have come together for one crazy occasion, not because of necessity but rather on a whim. For whatever reason Hawke, whose feelings towards the Arishok have always been mixed and complicated to say the least, suddenly yearns a closer contact, some intimacy beyond the giant dick twitching impatiently against her belly - but in the end she doesn't dare to reach for it. The kiss was crossing the line already, she knows.

The Arishok spreads her legs with his knee. Hawke closes her eyes, prepares herself - she may be wet and open, but she has no illusions about it: this is going to hurt.

Heavy, long hair falls on her face for a moment - he smells of tea, of course he does - and the Arishok corrects his position on her; he takes care not to crush her, which is polite, she supposes, and the she feels the large, warm head of his cock slide up and down her slit.

_Andraste have mercy._

The Arishok pushes in with a smooth, controlled thrust. Hawke cries, and grabs his arms. His huge muscles are shivering under her hands, his breathing is heavy - and it hurts. It hurts, but it is not unbearable, and then he pulls back, almost out, and pushes back in again, slightly further. Hawke lets out a soft cry, and her hips begin to rock against the Arishok, as searing lust is slowly replacing the fear and discomfort. The Qunari growls, and thrusts yet deeper, and after a couple more bottoms with a content grunt.

Hawke is gasping. She has never felt so full in her life, and tries to adjusts to the feeling. The Arishok, thankfully, gives her a moment, but he is clearly impatient. He keeps nipping her throat and clawing her ass, and finally he can't hold back anymore: he grabs her thighs, just on this side of painful, and begins to fuck her with a devastating force.

Hawke wails. She arches against the Arishok, holding onto him like she is drowning - and perhaps she is. She feels like she's been grabbed by a tornado, her body swaying helplessly back and forth in the rhythm of the Qunari’s merciless pounding.

The Arishok leans down and bites her shoulder; Hawke emits an undignified sound and her eyes snap open - and right then she sees Fenris sitting near, staring right at her, as if hypnotized. His burning gaze is glued to her wildly swaying breasts, yearning, and suddenly an impulse takes over Hawke: she reaches and grabs both men by the hair - Fenris' silky, snow-white mop, and the Arishok's coarser, silver-ivory strands - and yanks them closer. She can feel the Arishok's rough horn scratching her wrist, and the elf lets out a faint _ow!_ as their skulls hit against each other.

She kisses Fenris with vigor, devouring his mouth; then she turns and does the same for the Arishok - and then she is coming again. The Arishok growls, pleased, and begins to fuck her mouth with his tongue; Fenris leans down and somehow manages to suck her neck, so hard that it is sure to leave a mark, and at the same time his greedy hand cups her breast. Hawke shakes violently as the waves of her orgasm wash over her; the Arishok thrusts into her even harder, sinks his claws in her flesh - and finally comes to a halt, and collapses on top of her.

For a moment Hawke is gasping for air, crushed by the enormous weight; soon enough the Arishok raises up on his elbows, though, and pulls slowly out. Hawke coughs, and collapses where she lays. They stay still for a moment, just panting; then she looks up at him with glazed eyes. The Arishok is still breathing heavily, his head hanging.

”I - can't believe I let you fuck me,” she whispers, barely able to talk. There’s a hot gush of seed leaking out of her still gaping opening, and pooling between her legs. She is feeling absolutely filthy. The Qunari cracks his eyes open; they look hazy, so dark still. His upper lip pulls up, shows sharp canines.

”...you are about to let me fuck you again.” 

Hawke's jaw drops - and although she is dizzy and beyond sore, there is a small, cursed spark of desire immediately fluttering in her belly. A long, clawed finger begins to glide up her thigh, and then Fenris chuckles and grabs her face, pulling her for another merciless kiss.

 

***

 

An hour later - or perhaps two, who can tell? - they are lying casually on the mattress, unable to move.

Hawke has settled partly on the Arishok's wide chest, holding one of his horns casually. The thought of her doing so, the absurdity of it, amuses her greatly. Fenris is resting against her back, narrow and firm, his spent cock settled nicely between her sweaty thighs. 

_”Happy birthday,”_ Fenris mumbles, and kisses her shoulder. Hawke chuckles, tired. The Arishok, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully, brings his hand down on Hawke's thigh, squeezes it rather gently. 

”We shall never speak of this again,” he states, his voice dangerously close to a content purr.


End file.
